Justice After Coffee
by Embarrassingly Fab Biscuit
Summary: There have been 10 cases of murders all linked by 10 sets of sliced off hands. Ishimaru Kiyotaka, a hired police investigator currently trying to move up in rank, has been placed as the new case head. As soon as an old school friend is kidnapped, he is put square in the middle of the entire thing. Multi-Chapter? AU. Ishimondo.
1. Chapter 1

A nameless assistant slammed the door open, enough for it to go flying until it hit the wall, and tumbled in with a stack of papers and a light pant. His brown kakis, which were a size too big, only stayed in place due to the belt around his waist. The pinstripe vest he was wearing highlighted his classic fit dress shirt. A pair of black oxfords were on his feet.

With a sense of urgency he dropped the load of manila folders and paper clipped documents onto Ishimaru's recently wiped, birch wood desk. "We have another case of missing hands," he said. The assistant took a seat at one of the ergonomic client chairs and slumped backwards. Boy was he tired. He had run all the way here. "This has been the 10th case so far—10th week in a row as well."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes sir."

Ishimaru's fingers couldn't wait to start sorting through the files and checking out the details. There was a serious case going on, and if it was anyone that was going to solve it, it was him. He took a shot of coffee from his kitten-print mug.

Earlier that year, right after his graduation from Hope Peak University's law enforcement division(HPU-LED for short), he decided that it was best for him to join an office first thing. The eager lad didn't care to find out what mess dilly-dallying could bring. He never did.

Ishimaru had looked through ads in newspapers and those posted on street laps in order to search of a position—though there weren't any on the lamps, mind you. He submitted his application, and on the account of his tremendous scholarly achievements, he got a job within the first week. He personally felt all the feverish hours he had spent throughout his entire life had lead up to this one moment. But it was no time to celebrate. He would be starting at a low position within the justice department. There were things to get done.

That lead up to now, one year later. It was time for Ishimaru to show his worth by being a trial lead investigator in a certain case, one that involved a strange set of murders. If he completed his work—enough to please the higher-ups, that is—the position would automatically be his in any future cases.

For 10 weeks in a row, there had been 10 victims. What connected them was a single thing: all of their hands had been chopped off. According to all of the autopsy reports, there was a high probability they had been professionally removed with surgical scissors. Victims ranged in race, age, and gender. There were no immediate similarities except their heights which were all approximately 6' 2", or 188cm. All causes of death were the same: blood loss due to several bullets. Barrel markings reveled that all shorts were made from the same pistol, or at least type of there of.

That was it so far. No news was leaked to the public making it impossible for imitations.

This person behind it, though—if they truly thought they could break the rules like that and get away with it, they were dead wrong.

Why, Ishimaru had always followed them, ever since he was a kid, even. They had always been important to him. Now he wanted to uphold them, like he always did, in a manner that affected a lot of people. He was now in a position to do so, which was the best part. Investigating and catching the culprits, huh? That was the best. What in God's name was going on this time, though. Christ.

The clock struck 6:30PM. It was time to leave.

##

It was raining. Hard. It was like someone had decided to hose down the city. The droplets came in bottle cap sized. Not the baby made-out-of-recycled-plastic water bottle caps either, but rather those of large sports drinks. Honestly, now. What made it worse was the noise they were continuously making. Splat. Splat.

Ishimaru had to stop in front of a nameless coffee shop because the road conditions had just surpassed safe. It was never a good idea to drive his yellow 2-seater smart electric car in any other condition than safe. That wasn't going to happen. To further conserve energy Ishimaru turned the car off. It was already 7 o'clock. There was a knocking at his windshield.

A tall figure was peering in from the passenger seat window. He had a large clump of orange hair on the top of his hair (which was drooping now), and what looked like eyeliner smeared onto the corner of his eyes. Oowada Mondo.

"Hey, Ishimaru, open the heck up, bro."

He had been a colleague in high school. The darn troublemaker had always wanted to start something. Every week it was a different thing. Ishimaru couldn't count the number of times he had seen him walk in and out of the main office. But what was he doing here? Didn't he have some underground organization to run? And asking for help, too. As much as it pained him to assist, a person in need was a person in need, and this one needed a place to take cover.

Ishimaru leaned over and unlocked the door without saying anything. This wasn't really the safest thing to do, now that he thought of it. Oowada stepped in and shut the door.

"Thanks, buddy."

Buddy? If anything they were loose acquaintances.

Oowada slicked his hair back which only caused a downpour. Nothing big. And… was that _perfume_? He smelled like—like _daisies_? No. It was some other type of floral scent. But, what? If only he had spent time studying flowers as well, then maybe he could have been able to pinpoint it. Whatever it was, it would be there for days on the account of wet seat.

"So, um, Ishimaru."

He glanced over and made eye contact. What did he want?

"I know that this is a bit sudden but, um."

"What?"

"I was thinking with, well, with the way you are right now and—"

"Is there something wrong with having a job?"

"What? No, believe me. Having a job is cool, dude. I have one too."

Well, well, well. So he had a job too. Who cared? Ishimaru unconsciously frowned.

"Hey, don't look at me like that now." Oowada pulled out a business card out of his pocket. It was a dull tan with golden letters. "Take this."

It was probably a discount for a hitman request, or something. Ishimaru pulled it out of his hand to further inspect it. Beauty + WiFi Café was what it said. Wow, that was like, three things. What did they do? Serve you biscuits while you got your nails painted during your online chat? What fun. How original. He turned it over.

"I started a small business. There's an ad on the back." Mondo pointed at it with his finger for emphasis. "If you come in next Tuesday you can get a free haircut. It's totally a promotional thing. Since we were classmates and all I thought I could tell you, man."

Ishimaru looked up. Wasn't he just looking for a future customer, though?

"I didn't think I'd find you this fast, though," Oowada continued. "I mean I knew you lived around here and stuff but—"

"Are you insisting my hair isn't fine as is?"

"What? No. I mean it is a little rough around the tips, but that isn't anything conditioner can't fix."

Ishimaru huffed. His cheeks felt hot with frustration. "Get out of my car."

"Would you really make me stand out in the rain like that? Weren't you big on justice?" Oowada tilted his head. Gosh darn. The rain was starting to let up anyhow.

"Out," he repeated. "I don't need to be around troublemakers like you." The last part of his sentence trailed off. He furrowed his brows as well.

Oowada gritted his teeth. "You're not around anyone in the first place, are you? Damn straight, Ishimaru." He pushed the hair on Ishimaru's forehead back but then pinched his nose.

"HEY."

"Come get your haircut on Tuesday. It pains me to see such mistreated hair."

The door shut behind him and he walked a good 8 feet before he was opening the doors to the little building he had been paying for. A black sign with cutesy white letters that read Beauty + WiFi Café was placed between a flower wreath. They had been in front of the shop the entire time. That's how Oowada had found him so quickly.

Ishimaru rubbed the tip of his nose as he watched him strut in. The former gang leader was greeted by a couple of smiles from the staff. It was at that moment Ishimaru felt something click. The guy had friends.

a/n:

i dunno i mean. i might continue bc why not...? um. aaa have fun with the ooc man. and um. if you feel like something is off please drop a note bc id like to see it.


	2. Chapter 2

Chihiro knocked on the door with a delivery of wrapped up flowers in his hand. He yawned, making his eyes go teary. It was Tuesday afternoon, just after closing time for the infamous Beauty + WiFi Café. As the head florist, it was his job to replace and make arrangements for the small business.

The bundles he had in his hand could most simply be described as flower bouquets—three, to be exact.

Oowada pulled open the door as soon as he saw the little guy standing outside and greeted him with a smile.

"Hey, Chihiro!"

Chihiro smiled back, but not as much as he usually did. There was actually a reason behind his visit. Usually, he would have sent someone else to make deliveries. "Mondo. It's nice to see you again."

"You bet. Come in, man."

Oowada made two of the guest chairs face each other so they could chat a little. It had been a while since he had actually seen Fujisaki. They talked on the phone to discuss requests and the lot. They called each other once in a while to talk about themselves, but this had been the first time in, what, two weeks? Oowada wondered what had kept Fujisaki from visiting.

"What's up? You usually don't make the deliveries."

"Do you remember that request I took on a few weeks ago—the one with the, er…"

"The one I told you to deny?"

Fujisaki gritted his teeth. "Yeah. I mailed them back saying I wouldn't take on their request. But because I've never made on of those, I wanted to do it anyway, for myself."

"Are you serious?" Oowada's voice lowered. Why didn't Fujisaki tell him about it? He wouldn't have thrown a tantrum or anything. The only reason he had told him it was a bad idea was because of the request outline. It could kill.

"As I was saying, I've never had such a request, so I made it anyway. I thought it over, so I decided to deprogram the darn thing." Fujisaki said. "You were right. Having such a thing in anyone's position was dangerous."

"Did you finish deprogramming, or whatever?"

"No. The item was stolen. I was struck and I collapsed on the floor. They most likely didn't check to see if I was alive or not, counting on the fact that they were there for less than 5 minutes."

The air grew cold. "How'd you know that?" It was amazing to see how precise he was.

"I have a sensor on my bedroom door. Whenever it opens, the time gets logged. I don't know how they got in, in the first place, but I looked at the clock on my desk before I flopped over." He sighed. "Because they were the only person, beside you, that knew I was making it, originally, that is, I wrote another letter and sent it to them requesting the item's return."

Oowada was surprised Fujisaki had gone to such a length. He knew for certain that if it was a younger version of the guy, he would have left it at that. "That's great! What did they say?"

"It's not anything to celebrate over."

"What is it?"

Fujisaki's eyes strayed. "I must have sounded too weak. They didn't want to send it over to me."

"Well, they know that you want it back, right?" Oowada saw how tight he was gripping the bouquet wrapping. "That's something in and of itself."

"They want to meet up face to face, Mondo."

What? Why? Had they grown suspicious of something? Fujisaki had been training for a while now, but nothing could help him get over his naturally small build. A confrontation would only bring more trouble. Besides, it was dangerous as it was.

"Where?"

He sighed. "In the letter, my client sent me one of your business cards with a little map scribbled on the back. I tried to match it up with an actual location, and the result was _ bridge. I don't have the slightest clue as to what your business card has to do with anything."

Fujisaki stood up straight. His shoulders heightened. "I need your help, Mondo. Please go with me this Friday." His face reddened and he scrunched his eyebrows. "I don't have anyone else that can go."

Oowada sighed and slumped over in his seat. "So your lame client has that instant-pistol thing that can aim that body parts by voice command, right?"

"It's still in the developing stage, but I think it'd still be functional."

Oowada stood up. "Well, count me in, bud." How hard could it be? He couldn't let the little dude go by himself, now, could he?

##

Ishimaru sipped on his 5th cup of coffee for the day and looked at the newspaper. He coughed.

During his day in the office, there was a new item added to the latest victim's autopsy report. A bit of luxury pink nail polish was found on the sleeve of his coat. It looked like the streaks made out a word, but the investigators, himself included, weren't sure what it was yet. No new information presented itself. It was giving Ishimaru a big headache. There were no witnesses. The only thing that struck him as peculiar were the houses. None of them showed signs of having been broken into. That meant that the killer had entered with consent of all victims.

There must have been something. Anything.

He ran his fingers through his freshly trimmed and blow-dried hair. Oh, that's right. He set his mug down on a coaster and took the promotional card out of his pockets. The print sparkled as it was hit by the light coming in from one of the windows.

When he went to get his hair done earlier today, the lady at the desk had almost told him something about this card. That was when Oowada intervened and told him to "sit his ass down" at one of the salon chairs lining the left wall.

Needless to say, his hair was dried after it was washed and the tips were cut off because they had "died." That stuff.

He thumbed the back, which was laminated and shiny. His fingertips felt rough against the glossy cover. In the top left corner, there was a little arrow pointing at the very corner. Peel here, was written in a small white font. Ishimaru picked at it with his fingernail before he got a hold of the thin sheet. He peeled it off as directed.

Beneath it had been a little scribble of some sort, barely identifiable. The lot of it had come off because the lead had stuck to the sticky plastic sheet back.

Maybe someone had written on the back of the card, expecting to keep it. It must have been processed by accident, or something. On the back of the plastic peeling read as following: Congratulations! You will be taken care of by Oowada, Mondo. Well, heck. Oowada would have cut his hair anyway.

##

Fujisaki finished setting up the flowers and lugged the bag with all the old ones. "Oh, Mondo!"

"Yeah?" Mondo answered from the back section of the room.

Fujisaki reached into his coat pocket and felt the material it was lined with. He shoved his hand into his other pocket and felt his keys.

"What is it?"

He slipped his left shoe off and shook it. He did the same with his right. Fujisaki felt around his torso and arms.

"Where is it?"

"Where's what?"

"The card. I remember placing it in jacket."

Oowada immediately picked up how serious this was. "Did it get mixed in with the other ones when your group was placing the sticky sheet on the back?"

"I don't know. I was there that day, though. It might have fallen out."

They looked at each other with disdained expressions. Oowada immediately rebounded.

"But you know where to meet, right?"

"What if they ask for some sort of identification?"

"You can bring one of the other gizmos you've done."

Fujisaki sighed. "They'd easily say I was a fraud, and shoot on the spot."

a/n:

Aaa, sorry for the desu desu Chimondo. If you find me contradicting myself, please tell. I seem to do that. Oh, and thanks for the comments and favorites, and what not! I'll try to update weekly. (No promises, though, because I'm starting school soon.)


End file.
